


King of Hearts

by nayad-with-a-pen (ravenditefairylights)



Series: House of Cards [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (they're still dead tho im sorry), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/F, F/M, Hanukkah, Holiday Sweaters, Holidays Fic, House Elves, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Multi, Politics, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Regulus Black Lives, Reincarnation, Slytherin Sirius Black, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Star Wars References, Welsh Remus Lupin, Yule, baby harry is adorable and must be protected at all costs, but like, minimal mentions, very liberal interpretation of ghosts, with some angst bc its me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:00:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21952582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenditefairylights/pseuds/nayad-with-a-pen
Summary: In another world, Harry Potter spends his first Christmas without his parents neglected on a chair at his aunt’s house, watching as she fusses over another chubby baby and forgets he’s even there until he starts crying. In this one, he’s at a huge mansion at the countryside instead of a white picket fence in Surrey and Sirius sneaks him cookies before dinner.In another world, Harry is locked away after his aunt begrudgingly feeds him, and he falls asleep to laughter and light outside the door of a room that’s too cold. In this one, Clara catches them stealing the cookies and hits Sirius with a wooden spoon playfully as Remus laughs from his armchair, but she’s smiling when she picks Harry up and shows him how to bake more cookies....A must fluffy holiday piece, featuring but not limited to; holiday shenanigans, cooking, Christmas sweaters, cats, lots of food and Harry being adorable.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Marlene McKinnon/Dorcas Meadowes, Regulus Black & Sirius Black, Remus Lupin & Emmeline Vance, Sirius Black & Emmeline Vance, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin/Original Female Characters
Series: House of Cards [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1431631
Comments: 12
Kudos: 118





	King of Hearts

_A theory of quantum mechanics states that for every possible outcome of every event, a separate parallel world is formed from the road not taken, resulting in thousands upon thousands of alternate universes. Everything that has conceivably happened in our past—but didn't—has indeed happened somewhere else. The strands of time twist and dance along one another, converging and diverging, spinning into a complex web of might-have-beens._

_The universe is infinite and mysterious._

_The possibilities are endless._

* * *

James and Lily Potter die on two different green carpets, separated by a floor and a flight of stairs. James falls first, his glasses cracking at the last step, and there’s an eternity between them. Then Lily drops, arms open wide like she’s flying.

Harry remembers the scream and the green light only in his nightmares, but Sirius Black remembers exactly three things about that night; the door that had been blown off its hinges, a scream that got stuck in his throat and the way James’ eyes looked; still open, still hazel, but empty.

James and Lily Potter die on two different green carpets in their home on a chilly Halloween night and a part of Sirius Black dies with them.

Miles away, the lights are still shining, and they carry the laughter of the celebrating people with them. In the cottage at the end of the street, Sirius Black stops existing for a few seconds, but it’s okay, because the world around him doesn’t stop. A baby starts crying, a baby is still breathing, and maybe the world isn’t over yet.

* * *

“Come on Harry, smile for daddy!” James calls, holding the camera in front of his face at the ready; finger hovering over the button to get the exact second. Lily laughs, rocking Harry on her arms as he tries to catch her red hair with his tiny fingers.

“I don’t think he’s interested in you right now,” she tells her husband, and James sighs.

“Harry, you’re killing me here,” he says, finally letting the camera down and walking over to them. Lily rises on her tiptoes to give him a peck on the lips, but he still has to lean down a bit so she can reach. Harry pays attention to neither of them and continues to be fascinated by his mother’s red waterfall. “I know mummy’s hair is magic, but you need to work with me here.”

Harry continues to ignore him and James sighs again. Lily is grinning at them both, holding Harry close to her.

“Magic hair, huh?” she smirks, but James doesn’t even look sheepish.

“It is!” he exclaims, wriggling his fingers as he still tries to gain Harry’s attention—unsuccessfully. “It’s so soft and bright, and it always smells great.” Lily snorts as James, trying to further prove his point, mimics his son and catches one of her red strands, leaning down to sniff it. “See? Vanilla!”

“That’s not magic, hon, it’s called a shampoo,” Lily rolls her eyes at him.

“Irrelevant,” James dismisses with a hand wave. “I just need Harry to smile so I have a picture to send to Sirius. I already have him trying to eat your hair in like, four frames!” He points to the camera for emphasis, and as if misinterpreting his words, Harry puts the tiny fist with the hair in his mouth—or at least he tries.

“We don’t eat mummy’s hair,” Lily says easily, taking Harry’s hand away from him mouth without taking her eyes off James. “Just send him these,” she tells him. “You know Sirius loves him—it doesn’t matter if Harry’s smiling or not.”

“But I want one where he’s _smiling_ ,” James insists with an almost childhood whine; he never did quite grow out of these just yet. “It’s Christmas!”

“He’s happy, he doesn’t _have_ to smile, James,” Lily says, rolling her eyes again. She feels like she does that a lot around James, but she also smiles a lot more around James, so it all balances out.

“Just one,” James goes on, unaffected. “Just one tiny smile. Huh, buddy? What do you say?”

Harry regards him in that intense way babies do; with rapt attention and yet like he doesn’t understand a word coming out of James’ mouth. James still tries though; he goes through three different funny faces, attempts to scare Harry, does the ‘peek-a-boo’, but Harry is unmoved. He keeps blinking at James with a slight frown James is sure he inherited from his mother; it’s the one that usually says ‘you’re acting like a lunatic right now and I don’t understand a word you just said’ but in a fond way.

“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” James asks with yet another sight.

“He’s not,” Lily says pointedly, and then diverts her attention to the baby in her arms. “Are you ignoring daddy on purpose?” she coos. “Are you? I don’t blame you, he’s being very annoying.”

“Hey!” James says indignantly.

“We like him though,” Lily continues. “He’s nice. You’ll give daddy a smile, won’t you? You will! You will!” Lily coos, tickling Harry, who giggles. “See!” Lily tells him. “Not that hard, huh?”

James grins at them, before remembering he’s supposed to film this, and scrabbles frantically for the camera, sending Lily into a fit of laughter.

* * *

In another world, Harry Potter spends his first Christmas without his parents neglected on a chair at his aunt’s house, watching as she fusses over another chubby baby and forgets he’s even there until he starts crying. In this one, he’s at a huge mansion at the countryside instead of a white picket fence in Surrey and Sirius sneaks him cookies before dinner.

In another world, Harry is locked away after his aunt begrudgingly feeds him, and he falls asleep to laughter and light outside the door of a room that’s too cold. In this one, Clara catches them stealing the cookies and hits Sirius with a wooden spoon playfully as Remus laughs from his armchair, but she’s smiling when she picks Harry up and shows him how to bake more cookies.

“Can we get some cookies now?” Sirius pokes his head at the kitchen after a while, and Clara turns around, Harry secured at her hip, and arches one eyebrow.

“Didn’t you have enough cookies already?” she asks levelly, and Sirius pouts but walks up to them. He makes a funny face at Harry, who laughs and tries to reach for him over Clara’s shoulder.

“That doesn’t count,” Sirius protests, snaking an arm around the part of Clara’s waist that Harry isn’t latched onto. “I gave those to Harry, right buddy?” he looks up at Harry hopefully, waggling a finger, and the little one laughs delightedly in response. “That’s a yes,” Sirius translates. “Please?” he tries again, pleading Clara with his eyes.

“No,” Clara chuckles, swatting Sirius’ free hand away as it made a pass for the cookies when she wasn’t looking. “You already had some, and I’m saving those for Remus’ parents.”

“But...” Sirius protests weakly, but Clara fixes him with a stern look and a raised eyebrow, and begrudgingly he admits defeat. “Fine,” he relents with a sigh. “But when you take them out for Remus' parents they're fair game, and I intend to eat all of them.”

“If you eat all of them, you'll get sick,” Clara reasons easily, patiently, as if she's talking to Harry instead. 

“Will not,” Sirius insists with a childish stubbornness, entirely aware of it by the smirk on his face. “And besides, there's a potion for that. That's why we're wizards, isn't it?”

"Get out of my kitchen, Black," Clara says seriously. "Harry and I are baking."

"Technically," Sirius says, "it's my kitchen."

"Look, there are only three things I can cook, and that's Christmas cookies, cereal and pasta," Clara counts on her fingers for emphasis. "Don't ruin this for me. Gread leat." 

"Fine, fine, I'm leaving," Sirius pouts exaggeratedly, making a face at Harry behind Clara's back and he giggles. "You don't have to be so hostile."

Clara glares. "Sirius, ag na biotáilli—"

"Leaving!" Sirius calls cheerfully, steals a cookie from the plate before Clara can swat his hand away and retreats hastily. "Stay strong, Harry!"

Clara sighs. "Your godfather is the most ridiculous person I've met, Harry," she tells him, pinching the bridge of her nose. Harry doesn't understand what she says and asks for a cookie too. Clara sighs again and hands him one, shaking her head. "Sometimes I cannot believe I married that idiot."

Harry munches on his cookie and doesn't provide an answer.

* * *

\- **11th December**

**_THE DAILY PROPHET_ **

_Excerpt from Eduardus Limus' article "POT, KETTLE, BLACK; A UNION OF LOVE AND THE BIGGEST POLITICAL ALLIANCE OF THE CENTURY"_

_...It is, indeed, true, that the wedding of Sirius Black, heir of his line, with Alessa Moore, long last heiress of hers, was as sensational as it was ostentatious, but this should come as a surprise to no one. The public and very much phenomenal wedding that spared no expenses and left very little to the imagination about the wealth and the power the Ancient and Noble Houses possess was nothing if not vicarious of the Black family as a whole._

_Sirius Black, a hit-wizard of Alastor Moody's team, recently received the rule of his House despite the young of his age, and now holds the mantle of influence that his father, Orion Black, never officially had. The young Lord who spent his twenty-first birthday inside a cold cell in Azkaban, wrongly accused and never tried, holds his grudges in traditional Black fashion. After several lawsuits filed by the Black family against the Ministry, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the minister himself, the last, Bartemius Crouch Sr. publicly apologized to Sirius Black on behalf of the Ministry. Mr. Black, as well as his wife and all other members—alive or deceased—of the autonomous vigilante unit formed by Albus Dumbledore known as the Order of Phoenix, were decorated as war heroes on the 7th of December._

_Whilst the love of the happy newly-wed couple is not put into question, it cannot be denied that their marriage has more than just personal benefits. Mr. Black, 21 and already a distinguished auror, belongs to one of the Ancient and Noble Houses that, more often than not, sways the political favour of the Parliament's House of Lords. Firstborn son of the late Orion Black, a well-known active politician until his untimely death a few years ago, and Walburga Black, the temperamental heart and soul of the Black family, Sirius Black has inherited both his father's talent for political schemes and his mother's elegance and aptitude for fervid magic. The casual aristocratic grace, characteristic of the Black family, never fails to impress; ever-present in the duration of the wedding._

_His wife, the new Mrs. Black, is the last daughter of the late Connor Moore, a Wizengamot judge and prominent in the pureblood society circles, and his wife, the late Lyra Moore (née Rowle) a high prestige lawyer; whose murders by the terrorist organisation 'Death Eaters' shook the whole magical community. Mrs. Black's brother, Prosper Moore, well-known notary, was one of the victims of St. Mary's massacre in 1978, one of the 'Death Eaters' most known attacks. Even though the Moore family did not make the pureblood directory of the so-called 'Sacred Twenty-Eight' (a biased and still not formally accepted by the pureblood society directory composed by historian Alexia Walkin Avery, née Black, in the early 1800s), it holds an unequivocal place among the Ancient and Noble Houses, and to this day remains one of the most powerful and influential families of the Wizarding United Kingdom and Ireland._

_Their marriage yesterday, in the 10th of December—in attendance of almost the entire pureblood society and not only—therefore elucidates the impression that this holy union of love simultaneously forms the most powerful political alliance of this century. Mr. and Mrs. Black have already made their intentions in the political field clear; both in favour of radical changes in the social structure of the world, despite their families' more traditional views. It becomes clear that Mr. and Mrs. Black intent to be the pioneers for the recreation of our tattered by the War society, preaching the start of a new era. Standing by them in this initiative, judging by the attendants of their wedding, will most probably be..._

* * *

In another world, the rooms of the Black Manor in Blackpool are cold and empty, and its residents die alone and miserable and forgotten. In this one, the halls are occupied by new residents; young people that smile brightly and laugh loudly despite the still-healing wounds, the next generation that's come to make the world a better place.

In another world, the mansion is eerily silent and dusted. In this one, there are books left on the coffee tables, clothes thrown over the chairs, books and papers scattered across the rooms and a baby crying in the dead of the night.

The wounds are raw and seared deep into the center of the earth, but they're healing.

There’s a carved log burning in the fireplace, a tree decorated with garlands of gold and crimson, wreaths hanging outside the door and lit candles burning on the sills, fairy-lights on the walls and the garden. Somewhere inside the mansion, a pick-up vinyl sings the Christmas carols and a baby plays with the toy Jesus from the manger underneath the tree.

It’s half past seven in the evening of Christmas Day, and the doorbells rings; echoing around the house.

“REMUS DARLING CAN YOU GET THE DOOR?”

Remus chuckles, and gets up from the armchair he was nestled in. “What do you say Harry, go let our guests in?”

Harry lets out a stream of baby nonsense.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I was thinking,” Remus agrees and makes his way to the door. The Black Manor still has house elves—even after Melania and Arcturus Black took five of house elves with them when they left—but Remus feels bad telling them to do things for him. Clara and Sirius, having grown up in pureblood families, don’t have the same reservations. Even so, it’s a mutual agreement between them and the house elves that they would clean and eat with them on weekends—the only thing Sirius could make them agree on—but they wouldn’t cook the food or get the door or do any other things unless they were asked to. It was mostly Remus’ idea, but even with this he still feels a bit bad; which is irrational, since most house elves hate him anyway.

He pulls the door open—the doorbell is still ringing insistently, so he figures it’s either Marlene or Emmeline; though Emma is celebrating with her mum, and will probably be here much later.

“Finally!” Regulus exclaims when he sees him at the opening. “It’s fucking freezing!” He sidesteps him expertly and welcomes himself inside the house before Remus even has the door open all the way through. He closes it with a shake of his head and turns around. Sirius’ little brother is bundled up like they’re in Russia or Alaska instead of England; he wears a heavy cloak over his robes, a silver and green scarf that is exactly as warm as it looks and a beanie that’s covering half his face. Whatever is left visible of it is flushed red.

“It hasn’t even started snowing yet,” Remus points out, and receives the scowl he was expecting in return.

“I hate the cold,” Regulus mutters. His teeth clatter and he rubs his hands together fervently. For a ridiculous moment he reminds him so much of Sirius that Remus wants to laugh.

“The fireplace is burning,” Remus informs him helpfully, and Regulus exhales in relief as he peels off the layers of clothing.

“ _Thank Morrigan_ ,” Regulus mutters and walks off purposely to the living room; Remus didn’t say which one, but Regulus knows which one it is anyway; the feeling of being the only one living here who still gets lost in the damn house is a bit disorienting and more so embarrassing. But to be fair, it’s not all his fault—the place is so huge and vast he could probably start an expedition today and they’d reach the other end of the house in a couple of _months_.

Remus rolls his eyes at the antics of Sirius’ youngest brother—that are surprisingly like Sirius’ antics that he deals with every day—and follows. Sirius, speak of the devil, has already found Regulus. So has Harry, by the looks of it; he tugs insistently at Regulus’ robes, demanding to be lifted up whilst Regulus tries to keep him away from the fire but stay as close to it as possible. Sirius, ever helpful, is filming the whole thing and looking smug about it.

Regulus looks miserable. “I am so glad Nymphadora is over this baby phase.”

“It’s called part of growing up, brother dearest,” Sirius says, grinning. “Cheer up! Need I remind you that you were a baby once too?”

“I was never this clingy,” Regulus defends. He’s shuddering despite the heat close to him, and despite the fact that he’s looking down at Harry like someone just stepped on cookie dough, Remus feels a tad bad for him.

“I have memories that tell otherwise, Reggie,” Sirius shoots back cheekily. “In fact, I remember you following Andy around trying to get her to pick you up when you learned Mother was never going to, and—”

“Slander!” Regulus interrupts, but the glare on his face betrays the truth in Sirius’ words.

“Harry missed you,” Remus says, making both brothers look at him. “He hasn’t seen you since the wedding, and he likes you.”

“Lucky me,” Regulus grumbles, but he appears to finally take pity on Harry and bends down to pick him up. He holds him like he’s a dungbomb about to explode at any given moment, but Harry still squeals in delight, reaching out with his tiny hands to grab at Regulus’ ears.

“Who was it?” Clara asks, coming into the room suddenly. “Was it Emma? I need to ask her—oh, hey, Regulus! How are you?”

“Splendid,” Regulus says sarcastically. “Just fantastic.”

“Elderly bitterness is his default setting during the Yule Sabbat,” Sirius tells them. “Pay him no mind, it’s all perfectly natural.”

“Oh, sod off!” Regulus complains. Clara snorts, but Sirius adopts a pretence of mock horror.

“Regulus!” he exclaims with much more vigor than he ought to, “Think of the children!”

Regulus covers Harry’s eyes and flips him the finger in return and Clara cackles.

* * *

**-11th December**

**_WITCH WEEKLY_ **

_Except from Rita Skeeter's article for the Royal Gossip column "SECRETS AND LIES; ANCIENT AND NOBLE OR SENESCENCE AND CRIPPLING HOUSE OF BLACK?"_

_…Knowing the capricious nature of the Black family, the intentional spotlight on its heir's wedding should not have created the uproar it did, and yet here we are. **Sirius Black** , the unlucky man with the misfortune of marrying into a bloodline better dead, at least has promise of wealth to comfort him._

_Overstressed and way more expensive than would be justified, the Black wedding works only as a reminder of the decay the Ancient and Noble House of Black is falling into. For starters, the obviously arranged marriage between the two heirs is doomed to fail from the start, and not only because of the asymmetry of characters. **Alessa Clara Moore** , the heiress of the Ancient and Noble House of Moore, in addition to the Unseelie King's curse apparently also suffers from the curse of killing everything she loves. Her sister, **Evelyn Moore,** was tragically killed at the ripe age of 17 supposedly due to a spell that went wrong. Her parents, renown judge **Connor Moore,** and prestigious lawyer **Lyra Moore, neé Rowle,** were both tragically murdered at the Vance Gala by Death Eaters, as were her brother **, Prosper Moore,** and his newly-wed wife, **Amelia Moore, neé Reynolds** , shortly after their wedding. Beware, Blacks! Your fate might just be the same as theirs; after all, they all had one thing in common— **Alessa**. _

_However, the Black family is crippling even by itself. **Arcturus Black** , the long-standing monarch of the family and his wife, **Melania Black, née Macmillan,** have passed the mantle of power to their oldest grandson and according to sources, retired to France. It's been three years since their son, known politician **Orion Black** , died of natural causes; leaving his hot-headed wife and his deranged sister to make the decisions. The arrest and imprisonment of **Cygnus Black** and his eldest daughter, **Bellatrix** , has caused quite the impression and quite the stain on the House's reputation (that between us, has never been spotless). **Andromeda Tonks** , **Cygnus'** second daughter, becomes another stain on the House of Black, with her marriage to a muggleborn. Only the youngest Black sister, it seems has upheld the pureblood honour. **Narcissa Malfoy** , despite her husband's recent misunderstandings with the law, futilely tries to keep the pride the House of Black was built on, without much success. _

_This lack of discipline in the Ancient and Noble House of Black is what has caused its gradient but steady decay. An arranged marriage between two families seemingly powerful is not panacea, as **Walburga Black** seems to believe, neither will the involvement of a dilettante in the politics of our country improve the situation we are in. It is not wise to…_

* * *

In another world, the tables stay empty, gathering dust and creaking under the weight of the years sitting on them. In this one, they creek under the weight of full plates with Christmas pudding and roasted beef and Yule log cake and peppermint fudge.

In another world Remus Lupin celebrates Christmas alone over a dozen cold graves and Sirius Black doesn’t even realize the Yule Sabbat is already here, holed up in his cell in Azkaban. In this one, Remus is assaulted by Marlene and Dorcas’ crushing embrace, and Sirius makes silly faces at Harry to make him laugh while his brother rolls his eyes in the background.

In this one, there’s a table set, filled with holiday goods, a log burning in the fireplace and ten plates around the table of the Black Manor that for the first time will not host bitter and unpleasant company.

“We should get a picture!” Marlene says gleefully, holding Harry close to her. She motions for Sirius with one hand, but gets Dorcas instead, because Sirius is changing the vinyl in the record player. “Come here, we should get a picture. Harry’s second Christmas! Isn’t that right, buddy?”

Harry giggles at Marlene’s smile. “Maly!”

“Where is Clara?” Marlene asks, and Remus shrugs. Harry takes hold of a button from her robes and pulls at it, and Marlene frantically tries to stop him; it’s her new robes and much as she adores Harry, she doesn’t want to ruin them from now.

“I don’t know, but Emma isn’t here yet,” Remus says. Only he and Dorcas didn’t put on wizarding robes; choosing instead to dress in extravagant Christmas sweaters. Remus’ is bright red, with a reindeer in the middle—Harry’s particularly fond of his red nose. “If you want to take a picture, we should wait for her.”

“We’ll take one when she’s here too,” Dorcas tells them easily. Her own sweater is green and red and white, with squares and triangles bending around to create a pattern on it. “Sirius! Catch!”

The catch is entirely reflexive, because Sirius looks ruffled, but he’s already caught the camera in his hands when he turns to Dorcas. His face lights up. “Picture time!” he calls cheerfully, and Harry repeats it, louder, and Marlene pesters him with kisses until he giggles.

“I am _not_ taking a Christmas picture,” Regulus says resolutely. Sirius doesn’t even disagree, he just grabs him from the arms and drags him until they’re all standing in front of the tree. “Sirius!” Regulus splutters, but there’s nothing he can do, because Dorcas has manhandled him, and suddenly he’s in between Sirius and Marlene, and Harry has caught hold of his green robes and he can’t go anywhere.

Remus ends up being the one taking the first picture; Marlene is in the middle with Dorcas’ arms around her, propping Harry front, who’s more interested in the golden snake pin with emerald eyes in Regulus’ robes than the camera—Sirius is next to him, laughing. In the next picture he’s reaching forward, and the third one is taken from a downwards angle, right before the camera hit the floor but Remus is in it, with Sirius’ lips landing slopping on his cheek, and then he’s laughing along.

* * *

**\- 11th December**

**_ASTRO NEWS_ **

_Except from Leila Medusa's front-page article "A WINTER WEDDING IN BLUES AND GREENS; THE REQUIEM OF THE MOORE-BLACK WEDDING AND ITS PAGE IN THE HISTORY OF THE WIZARDING WORLD"_

_… Undoubtedly, the title for the Event of the Year goes to the Moore-Black wedding, not only for its publicity and its date at the traditional end of the year, but for its meaning as well. The now official end of the Wizarding War (31rst October 1981, for details see "The Potter Memorial" pg. 39) is marked not only by the end of lives and the end of times, but the beginning of them as well._

_The Moore-Black wedding might have caused equivocate reactions to the public, but one thing remains true above all; the mark of a new era. A symbol of new times and new lives in the face of the start of something small, the happiness of two families that have already lost so much becomes an emblem of hope for the future. And whilst Saturn, Uranus and Neptune configure into a T-square to signify the struggles in our lives and our will to rise stronger and achieve peace with what we lost, to continue as we were despite our heavy burden, **Sirius** and **Clara Black** take that rather literally. Like a phoenix that rises from its ashes, brighter and younger and stronger, the couple overcomes the trials they have recently faced and rise above them in victory._

**_Sirius Black_** _, born in the 2nd November under a clear sky that promised greatness, has by now surely faced more than any man should. In the ripe age of twenty-one, he has already lost most of his friends in the War, has been wrongly accused and mistreated by the very laws he fought to uphold. Despite the stability represented in the fixed signs, Mr. Black has taken his own sign's description a bit more literally. Scorpio, born under the influence of Mercury, Lord Black certainly has the passion and intensity that describes his sign; a magnetic personality with the potential to bend the world around it to shape, as he’s continuously proven. Effortlessly sidestepping the falsified charges against him and earning instead the respect he deserves as a war hero and—if his list of wedding guests is anything to go by—he certainly has the power to bring people together. His wife, born in the 23_ _rd _ _June under the influence of Pluto, despite Cancer’s inclination to sensitivity, stands her ground ruthlessly—as is expected of the Lady Black. Under the guidance of her moon of influence, **Clara Black** rises above with wit, steel will and emotional intelligence. Already owning a G.N.V.Q. in curse-breaking and building her own family whilst studying Magical Law in the University of Oxford, the she certainly lives up to the reputation of her House. _

_The Moore-Black wedding, in the years to come, surely has earned its place in the history of the Wizarding World as a symbol of hope and faith during duress; the old World ends with the aspect of Saturn and Neptune; whose influence is said to shape entire generations. A new World is born from the ashes, the future that promises to shine. Something old and rotten dies so that something new and better can begin…_

* * *

In another world, the doorbell of the Black Manor in Blackpool will never ring again. In this one, it will keep ringing forever, bringing new people and new lives each time it does.

“Emma!” Remus says when he opens the door, and despite the bags in her hands, she throws her arms around him and they both laugh. “Come in! Clara’s been waiting for you—apparently she needs to ask you something?”

“I know, I know, and I _promised_ ,” Emma wails, throwing her curls away from her eyes with expert, short movements. “Here—” she dumps her bags onto Remus’ empty arms, who rushes to catch them without losing his balance, “—these are some gifts, for Harry mostly, and I also brought champagne like I promised, and I know you said not to, but I also make loukoumades—Harry’s going to love them.” She’s pointing at the bags as she talks, and Remus has to try very hard to keep up; mostly because most of the bags have the same colours. “So, where’s Clara?”

“Um, in the kitchen?” Remus says, but it comes out as a question instead. He’s a bit overwhelmed; no matter how much you prepare for Emmeline Vance, there’s no way to be _truly_ prepared. Emma either doesn’t notice his hesitation, or she doesn’t care.

“Great!” she says and claps her hands together. “I’ll go find her, just give me—”

Remus doesn’t know what he’s supposed to give her, but Emma gets it herself—it’s some of the heaviest bags Remus has in his armful—so it’s fine. And then she disappears in the house, heading towards the kitchen with long, quick steps. Remus shakes his head, but follows after her—there is, after all, the possibility that Clara is _not,_ in fact, at the kitchen—after he dumps the presents on the furniture with the mirror in the entrance, where Sirius is sure to find them.

“What did you promise her anyway?” Remus asks Emma when he’s finally caught up with her. Living in the Black Manor is still surreal, mostly because the place is bigger than the village he lived in when he was nine. Nine-year-old him didn’t go out much, but he still found that village enormous. The Black Manor estate makes it look tiny.

“To make my specialité,” Emma tells him, smirking. She navigates the identical, numerous corridors with ease, and of course she does; it can’t be that much different from her childhood home. In the navigation efforts it requires, that is. The Vance Manor is probably not goth and green and straight out of the Victorian times. 

Remus raises an eyebrow. “Which is?”

“A surprise,” Emma says pointedly, still smirking, and turns around to continue walking towards the kitchen. Remus doesn’t press; he knows Emma has a thing about surprises, and when she sets her mind on them, there’s no making her tell.

It turns out, Clara _is_ actually at the kitchen. One point for him.

“Emma!” she exclaims when she sees them and rushes over to hug her; once Emma has set the bags of food down on one of the counters. Her smile shows her dimples and makes her eyes sparkle. “You’re here!”

“Yeah, finally,” Emma chuckles and smiles apologetically. “I’m so sorry—”

“Rubbish!” Clara waves her off before she’s even begun. “There’s no need to apologize, you’re here now. Remus, my moon, can you take these out at the table? Get Sirius to help you—as soon as Emma works her magic, we’ll be ready to eat.”

“Sure,” Remus accepts the two salads Clara hands him, careful not to topple them over; they look to delicious to wasted.

“Ten minutes,” Emma tells him. “Sit down and we’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“If you’re late we’ll start without you,” Remus threatens; it’s empty and they all know it. Well, there’s no telling if Sirius is going to sneak the cookies but promises can be made.

“Is Harry asleep yet?” Clara asks, taking some bowls out of the bags Emma brought; he expects the food she was describing him. She’s too focused, her brows creasing together, and despite himself Remus half-smiles before he remembers the question.

“Oh yeah,” Remus snorts. “He fell asleep on Regulus' shoulder and he couldn’t move because he was afraid to wake him up, it was adorable. Sirius has pictures. Oh, and Marley wants to take a picture before everyone is gone, so Emma…”

“I’ll be my best self,” Emma grins. “Now, shoo. You’re not allowed to know my grandma’s secret recipe.”

“And send Sirius to take Emma’s cake out in the table!” Clara calls at his retreating back, and Remus nods, even though she can’t see him.

“Sure thing!”

* * *

**\- 12th December**

**_MAGIC COSMOPOLITAN_ **

_Except from Amanda Pettet's article for the Jewels & Whispers column "WHY WE SHOULD ALL ASPIRE TO BE LIKE LADY CLARA MOORE-BLACK, A GUIDE TO AIMING HIGH AND SUCCEEDING"_

_… and who better to be our example of prime success than **Clara Moore-Black** after her sensational wedding to **Sirius Black** , known auror?_

_Big fairytale wedding, thousands of guests and even more smiles, the Moore-Black wedding has become the highlight of December, and not without cause! **Clara Moore,** the youngest daughter of a Wizengamot judge and a lawyer, after her brother’s death allowed the Head of the House position to fall to her uncle, **Marcus Moore**. Just twenty-one years of age, Mrs. Moore has achieved what most of us only dream of; educational success, respect, and now the fairytale wedding little girls make plans for—not to mention money. With flawless scores in her O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s and a spotless academic record, a G.N.V.Q. in curse-breaking and a place in the University of Oxford, studying law, you definitely shouldn’t wonder why we picked her as a model of intelligence and ambition._

_Marrying into a rich, powerful and respected wizarding family is definitely another point in her list of achievements, but not the most important. Undoubtedly, the large space, occupied by almost three thousand guests, the silver and sapphire ribbons and the variety of flowers gave the spectacular wedding an even more beautiful edge. However, the wedding—marvelous as it was—should not be our point of focus. On the contrary, it's much more interesting to focus on **Clara** herself; the woman behind the attainments._

**_Clara Moore-Black_ ** _graduated from Hogwarts, one of the best private schools in Wizarding Great Britain, taking an unexpected gap year during which she worked in the muggle NGO for the preservation of the environment, and still managed to get a G.N.V.Q. certificate and enter the University of Oxford, as previously mentioned. Her public action started after she was accepted into Oxford, when she joined the vigilante organisation 'Order of Phoenix', a unit formed by **Albus Dumbledore** with the sole purpose of resisting You-Know-Who's rein. In the short time since the end of the Wizarding War and the Order's decoration, she became even more active in the community, demanding her then fiancé's release, the imprisonment of **Severus Snape** and her ongoing demand for **Dumbledore's** removal from his position as the Chief Warlock. Her charisma with diplomatic affairs and her inherent intelligence (both emotional and interpersonal as is necessary for negotiations) proved invaluable. With suave powers of persuasion and a steel, scintillating determination nothing that stands in her way stays standing for very long._

_Following her dynamic, feminist example…_

* * *

In another world, Sirius Black has never and will never step foot in the Black Manor’s kitchens. In this one, he’ll be making quite a habit of it.

“Emma!” he exclaims and before either woman can so much as turn around, he’s wrapping his arms around her and lifting her up in a hug.

Emma laughs. “I missed you too, you moron. Now put me the fuck down.”

“Sorry,” Sirius says, grinning and not looking a little bit sorry as he sets her down on the floor. He turns to Clara. “Harry’s sleeping—”

“I know, Remus told me,” Clara tells him. “Honestly, he lasted much more than I’d have if I was him.”

Sirius shrugs, a smile creeping onto his face. “Prongslet was just happy we were all here. Not that this works for anyone—I remember Regulus used to fall asleep at ten every year without fail, guests or no guests. Mother tried everything to get him to hold on a bit longer, but alas, it was not to be.”

Emma chuckles, sporting a half-smile. “I can imagine. Once you get to know him, Regulus is a bit like a cat, isn’t he?”

“That makes two of us,” Clara says, and Sirius snorts. It’s true, even in only the way she curls up and gravitates towards the heat he and Remus provide when she sleeps.

“Well, he’s cozying up to Salem upstairs,” he says, thinking of the black furball taking over Regulus’ lap without his permission. “If they’re exchanging cat tactics on how to annoy people, we’re going to have a problem. One cat in the house is enough, thank you very much.”

“Did you see me complain when Remus brought the dog in?” Clara raises one perfectly poised eyebrow. She has her hands on her hips too, for effect, and focusing on her face is a tad hard when she’s wearing that amazing emerald dress robe that sparkles; the one she bought when she went Christmas shopping with Madeleine and Charlotte. Sirius still isn’t sure if the shopping spree was the fault of her mates entirely, but he’s not complaining.

“We don’t have a—oh.” Belatedly, he realizes she’s talking about him; and she’s right, but it’s still a bit disarming to hear an animagnus joke. James was always the one who—and yeah, therein lies the heart of the problem. He grins at Clara anyway. “But you love me.”

“Of course, my stars,” Clara answers. It’s easy and honest and she’s smiling. “The ring sort of gives it away.” Sirius grins wider. There’s a camera shutter clicking, and somehow Emma must have taken out a camera from her non-existent pockets, because she’s holding one and smirking at them wickedly.

“You guys are so cute,” she tells them, voice amused but leaving no room for arguments. “I needed to immortalise those heart eyes for future generations to see.”

“Oh, sod off!” Clara laughs, rolling her eyes. “And you!” she points to Sirius with mock aggression—one finger out, one brow raised—and he pretends to hurt. “You came here with a job to do.”

“Here’s my cake,” Emma says, dumping the ceramic bowl in his arms slowly. “You are _not_ allowed to eat any of it until dinner’s served and _done_.”

“It smells heavenly,” Sirius says, sniffling at it the way one might sniffle at a flower. He’s eyeing the thing like it’s made of gold.

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” Emma looks unimpressed. “Of course, it smells heavenly, _I_ made it.”

“Modest much?” Sirius shoots back, but his attention is quickly returned to the cake once more.

“If it makes you feel any better, we also have pudding,” Clara says. “And chocolate pudding.” She frowns. “I don’t understand why we need all that food.”

“Because your husband’s stomach is a bottomless pit, and so is your boyfriend’s,” Emma returns easily. “And that way you can have leftovers.”

Sirius snorts. “What leftovers?”

“You will not eat the whole table, darling, you physically _can’t_ ,” Clara points out gently, with no small degree of ‘don’t be ridiculous’.

“Is that a challenge?” Sirius wriggles his eyebrows.

“Oh my god, Black, just take the bloody cake and _go_ ,” Emma says, whacking him lightly with a wooden spoon—honestly, where is she hiding all that stuff?—before turning back to whatever it is that’s taken over one of their ovens.

Sirius makes sure to exclaim in pain loud enough, but she’s not looking at him, so the outraged betrayal slips off his face; there’s no point if she’s not looking. He huffs, but Clara’s smiling at him, and he remembers suddenly that he also had a question. He adjusts the cake on his arms—bloody thing is heavier than it looks.

“About the table,” he starts, not as a question. He needs to set the cake down, that way it’ll be a lot easier to take the two sets of cutleries from his pocket; good thing this robe has so many of them. Pockets. Not cutlery. If his robes had many cutleries in it, they'd have a problem. Anyway, the point is, he should remember to thank Clara’s mate—Allegra. He’s pretty sure Allegra Ollivander bought him that present.

“What about the table?” Clara asks. “I put everything on it, didn’t I? What have I forgotten?”

“You haven’t forgotten anything.” Sirius chuckles at the adorable way Clara scrunches up her nose when she tries to think of something. “It’s just, those were extra.”

He gives her the cutleries—two spoons, two forks—and the frown in her face deepens. She doesn’t accept them, so Sirius is left to hold them awkwardly in the air between them. Clara’s gaze is scrutinizing, like she’s trying to figure out where the fork is hiding its money and whether or not the spoon killed someone in a past life. It clears out soon enough, and she chuckles.

“They’re not extra,” she says, pointing at them unconsciously with her palm. Sirius looks down at them and then back up at her.

“Clara,” he says, in his most genuinely confused tone, looking at her carefully. “We’re not nine,” he tells her. Slowly, for the both of them. “We’re seven. There are two extra plates. Two extra sets of cutleries.”

“No, there aren’t,” Clara insists, shaking her head. “These are for James and Lily,” she says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Now go set the table, Sirius, _shoo_!”

Sirius blinks. And then blinks again; at the names, the ease with which they were uttered; a storm of words Clara isn’t saying. _These are for James and Lily,_ of course James and Lily are coming for Yule. _For James and Lily,_ of course they’re eating dinner with us. _James and Lily_ , like they didn’t die only a few months ago. Because the point is not that they’re dead, it’s that they were family, and they’ll always be family, no matter where they are.

These are for James and Lily because it doesn’t matter where they are, they’re still welcome. Still coming. Still loved. 

Sirius needs to blink again when his eyesight blurs suddenly, and in a flurry, he lunges himself at Clara and wraps his arms around her tightly.

“I love you,” he whispers in her hair, and he feels her hands trace his back gently.

“I know,” she says softly, from somewhere in the crook of his neck. She doesn’t pull away, just hugs him tighter when she says; “I deserve it. Now _go_.”

Sirius lingers in the smell of cinnamon for a moment before he pulls back, wiping his eyes hastily. “Did you just quote _Han Solo_ to _me_?”

Clara laughs and Sirius can smile again.

* * *

**\- 11th December**

**_THE DUNGBOMB; DAILY NEWS_ **

_Except from John Iosifidis' article for the Gossip of the Day column "WEDDING PHENOMENON: THE EVENT OF THE YEAR THAT WILL REFORM THE PUREBLOOD SOCIETY AS WE KNOW IT"_

_… Still reeling after the end of the First Wizarding War (a name less than accurate), and as the Wizarding World still tries to find stones to latch into in order to rebuild itself, the wedding of the heirs of the UK's most powerful pureblood families shakes the very foundations of our society._

_A historical moment, bound to bend the world around it, the Moore-Black wedding promises to be the turning point in the restoration of all that was destroyed by the War. Mr. and Mrs. Black did not hesitate to announce their plans for the amendment of aftermath (more on page 56) and a social recreation direly needed. Their wedding was executed at the 10th of December, was hosted in a traditional Black family house and in attendance of more than 300 guests; ranging from pureblood families and family members to friends and coworkers of the lucky couple. Almost all pureblood Houses, both those from the directory of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and not, were in attendance, and it would not be far-fetched to assume that alliances have been formed between most of them._

_Grandiosely made and guaranteed to be seen by everyone, the purposes of the marriage did not go unnoticed. Harbinger of new times, the Moore-Black wedding appears to have a lot more in mind than just the happiness of two people. Mrs. Walburga Black did not hesitate to mention the political struggle our country is going through; despite the loss of her husband, or perhaps because of it, the Ancient and Noble House of Black takes a new chance at the world of politics. And whilst the eldest Black son seems eager—especially after his marriage—to amend the political structures that You-Know-Who and his terrorist organisation infiltrated with insidious means, the youngest son does not seem all that particularly concerned._

_“I have no desire to follow in my father’s footsteps, and neither does my brother,” Regulus Black, 20, stated in an exclusive interview for The Dungbomb. “My father’s political views and his tolerance for people like the Dark Lord are what brought us here. Elections approach, and I know that whatever direction my brother and his wife take in their views will only amend the situation we live in. We cannot allow ourselves to live in the same foundations that birthed extremist movements like the ‘Death Eaters’. In trying times like these we need to stick together and rid our country of its rotten roots, otherwise we will see it crumbling to the ground much faster—perhaps that time for good.”_

_The fear for repetition today is overshadowed by the joy at the end of the War, but that does not mean it’s not still there. Elections approach after Minister Crouch’s resignation as a result of protests in the main square, that drew even the attention of muggles, and the people of the Wizarding UK need to place their hopes in someone who can rebuilt our country. Mr. Black, despite a vocal and radical approach, does not plan to be that someone, and we have yet to see to which direction these elections—scheduled after the start of the new year—will take us. Revelations about Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of private boarding school ‘Hogwarts’ and Chief Warlock, cause an uproar in the scholar circles and not only. Mrs. Black, source for most of these new revelations…_

* * *

In another world, Dorcas Meadowes is killed by Lord Voldemort himself and Marlene McKinnon is murdered with the rest of her family. In this one, they live to become the smiling aunts with the flower dresses and the pink cardigans who bring more presents that can fit in your arms.

“And so, then Marley turns around—because we have been listening to that idiot go on this _whole time_ , and frankly, it’s getting _very_ tiring—and says; ‘I didn’t see you having that problem last week at Thorfinn Rowle’s trial’!” Dorcas laughs. “At first, he was all frowny—didn’t understand who we were, probably—but then some of these wedding and decoration photos on the newspapers must have done a good work, because his eyes went all wide, and he flushed scarlet!”

Dorcas laughs again, and this time her laughter is joined by the rest of the table’s. “Some people, I swear,” Emma chuckles.

“I still can’t believe your cousin is a Death Eater,” Marlene says, shaking her head a little. With one of her hands she reaches for the salad and piles some in her plate. “It’s just so surreal. Especially when the rest of your family…”

“Was killed by Death Eaters?” Clara fills in when she trails off. Marlene winces, but nods.

“Yeah, I mean…”

Clara shrugs. “Well, I never much liked Thorfinn. Guess there’s a reason for that now.”

“Yeah, he’s a fucking arsehole, that’s why,” Sirius says, finally pausing in his food to participate in the conversation.

“It’s not nearly as surprising when you read Cepheus Rowle’s declarations after his son’s arrest,” Regulus says. “He’s practically preaching the Dark Lord’s gospel.”

“Uncle Polaris was so mad,” Clara says quietly. “I mean, imagine finding out your brother’s partly responsible for you little sister’s death, and that of her son’s.” Clara draws a deep, unsteady breath and Remus puts a hand on her own gently.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Marlene says gently, but Clara waves her off; her fork still clutched in a grip tight enough to turn her knuckles white.

“It’s not your fault.” Clara gives a fragile smile. “It’s all theirs. Like Asterope said—they aren’t worth ruining my dinner for.”

“Absolutely not,” Emma agrees, gently loosening Clara’s fingers from the fork and entwining their fingers together. “They’re not even worth the courtesy of being talked about during dinner.”

“Did I tell you about nice old lady I met at the store the other day?” Dorcas asks quickly. “I was looking for the lettuce cause for some reason I can never find it and—”

“Literally no one cares, Meadowes,” Regulus cuts in; he doesn’t sound annoyed, his tone is flat and matter-of-fact and somehow condescending even though there isn’t any colouring in his voice, in that way only Regulus manages. She’d say it’s a Black thing, but everyone else in that family makes sure you know how much you annoy them. “What?” he asks when the rest of them turn to look at him—completely missing the death glare Dorcas is sending his way. “None of you was going to say it—someone had to!”

“You know, university really isn’t doing you any good,” Dorcas says bitingly. “You were never this rude before.”

“You never knew me before, Meadowes,” Regulus points out—correctly, but Dorcas _had_ talked to him a couple of times before—with a roll of his eyes. There’s a lapse in the conversation where only Sirius can ignore the awkward silence and continue eating.

“So,” Remus says finally. “How are your classes going, Regulus?”

“Fantastic,” Regulus says sarcastically. “This diplomatic history class is the easiest I’ve been in.”

Clara snorts. “Tell me about it. It’s ridiculous more than anything else.”

“I thought you were a law major.” Regulus raises one eyebrow—Dorcas marvels at how alike Sirius he is when he does that—piling latkes in his plate without breaking eye contact.

“I take extra classes,” Clara replies. “You’ll never know when you might need then.”

“I could never continue into a meaningful life without knowing the Mason-Overy debate on internal pressures inside Nazi Germany,” Regulus deadpans. Sirius rolls his eyes.

“Must you be so cynical?” he asks as he passes Remus the bread. Regulus mouths back something that looks suspiciously like “pot, kettle, black”, and Sirius waves a hand in the air dismissively.

“It _does_ have some similarities with our current and past political situation,” Clara allows.

“For the love of everything I hold dear, _please_ do not analyze that,” Marlene pleads. A rather wicked grin appears on Sirius’ face, but Remus gets there before he can say anything.

“No, Sirius, leave it alone,” he tells him. Sirius pouts, but under the power of Remus’ pointed look and pleading eyes, he drops it. “One thing I can tell you for sure about university—exams are kicking my arse.”

“All our arses,” Clara snorts. “Catch me not studying when I’m supposed to and then panicking about finishing the assigned material.”

“Isn’t that what everyone does?” Regulus asks.

“No,” Remus and Emma answer in union, and then look at each other and laugh.

“Yeah, well, _you_ are nerds,” Sirius says as if that explains everything. “And Emma isn’t even _at_ university—the Curse-breaking Academy is something else entirely.”

“As if _you_ , brother dearest, aren’t a nerd,” Regulus bites, smirking at Sirius’ scowl.

Emma opens her mouth and points one finger accusingly at Sirius. “I’ll have you know, the Unspeakable training is one of the hardest things, and just because your wife opted out of it by taking the GNVQ test—”

“And this is why we smart kids went to the National Academy for Arts instead,” Marlene says loudly. “Drama school, ironically has the less drama, exams-wise.”

“And in ten years when you’re famous and don’t remember us anymore we’ll be able to say; ‘I had holiday dinner with her’?” Clara asks, her lips threatening to break into a grin.

“I can’t forget about you, then I won’t be able to spend any time with Harry,” Marlene protests, making the three of them laugh.

“I’m sure Harry won’t appreciate that either,” Remus chuckles. “But hey, it’s Christmas! And Hanukkah,” he added, looking towards Emma, who nodded in satisfaction. “We don’t need to worry about the exams.”

“Only until next month when we realize we should have studied for them instead of spending our time pranking our brothers?” Regulus asks.

“I take offence to that,” Sirius says with mock indignation. “I’m your _only_ brother!”

They laugh—which was probably the point of Sirius’ ridiculousness, if the smug smirk is anything to go by. “Sirius, I swear…” Clara shakes her head. “Worrying about exams a month before exams is one of the fundamental laws of nature.”

“If you follow that logic, then the stress for the finals and the stress for the wedding are going to kill you,” Sirius points out.

“Oh, did you guys set a date yet?” Dorcas asks, suddenly very interested. Remus, Sirius and Clara exchange a look.

“Well, we haven’t set _set_ the date yet,” Clara answers. “But sometime during March, probably. So that it’s not too cold, and the honeymoon falls in between the exam seasons. July was too far, though Hope continues to insist that’d be best.”

“Oh, and so now that means you’ll spend our honeymoon worrying about your exams?” Remus asks, the ghost of a smile hovering over his lips. “Because if so, I want to reconsider my position and support my mother.”

“Well,” Clara drawls, looking at Remus and Sirius with a smirk that threatens to paint Remus’ cheeks pink, “I trust you’ll both do a _very_ good at distracting me.”

“And I did _not_ need to hear that,” Regulus cuts in loudly—returning the attention back to his plate—causing a ruckus of laughs around the table.

* * *

**\- 15th December**

**_ABRACADABRA_ **

_Excerpt from Anya Dolohov's article for the Spells & Bells column "CHILDREN OF THE STARS: WHAT NO ONE WILL TELL YOU ABOUT THE BACKSTAGE WARS OF THE BLACK FAMILY"_

_… but of course, nothing in the Black family is ever as it seems. In attendance at **Sirius** and **Clara Black** 's wedding was the cream of the pureblood society, and then some. The list of guests reached almost three hundred people (not all of which were cordially invited!). Understandable as a feud between families can be, so can a feud between one single family._

_A red herring were the smiles and joy during the wedding—not those towards the couple, but rather towards one another. Invited to the wedding was, naturally, the whole Black family; and by whole we mean even its disowned members. **Andromeda Tonks,** the second daughter of **Cygnus and Druella Black,** who was disowned for her marriage to muggleborn healer **Ted Tonks** , was specifically invited with her husband and daughter—a fact that created friction between her and her parents. Despite that, however, **Narcissa Malfoy** did not seem to mind her sister's attendance, and even went as far as to let their children play together. _

_Tensions were also created by the still fresh trial of **Bellatrix Lestrange, Cygnus's** eldest, and for nothing more than the reason; the torture—that led to a short coma—of the bride. Even though **Arcelia Lestrange** , **Bellatrix** 's sister-in-law, and her parents as well as **Persephone Greengrass** , **Rabastan** 's fiancée, attended the wedding, no fights appeared to take place. Perhaps an illusion of simply being careful to shy from the cameras' lights—knowing **Walburga Black** 's irascible nature, this seems like the most plausible explanation—or a genuine attempt to respect the couple's happy day, the ceremony as well as the table went without a hitch. To paraphrase **Elva Selwyn** who was kind enough to give an exclusive interview to our magazine, it was **Sirius** and **Clara** 's day and no one was allowed to dampen the excitement._

_The ceremony, a traditional wizarding wedding descending from the Old Times, was executed by **Cassiopeia Black** ; who according to genealogy books should not still be alive, and definitely doesn't have the right to look as fresh as she did. She ought to share her elixir of life with the rest of us! **Sirius** and **Clara** **Black** decided to enter precarious waters by inviting all of their friends despite of social status, and despite the dichotomy of opinions that situation created, eventually it ended in their favour, seeing as no heated words were exchanged and the wedding was not only lovely, but became the talk of the month!_

_Further speaking of guests, the bride's cousin, **Xenophilius Lovegood**..._

* * *

“LILY!”

“For the love of Merlin, James, I said I’m _coming_!” Lily yells back with a loud sigh, carefully interweaving strands of her red hair into braids. “I told you to watch the food, not bother me! I didn’t know you lose all your ability to cook during Christmas.”

“For the record, I am the one who cooked the food,” James says from their bedroom door. “My cooking skills are still sharp and very much excellent.”

“And still very modest, I see,” Lily says, sticking her tongue out as she tries to fix her hair. Merlin knows how Mary did this so effortlessly…

“I am the pinnacle of modesty,” James says, coming up behind her. He’s not dressed up—only in his jeans and the Christmas sweater Remus’ mum knit him, barefoot—they don’t need to be, it’s family Christmas, and hardly anyone is going to judge them. “The food isn’t ready yet.”

Clara isn’t coming; spending Christmas with her family in France. She and her cousins from Ireland are flying out there the muggle way—something about Fenton winning a bet—and Clara had already left with them at the start of the week. Emma would be coming over much later, after she had celebrated Hanukkah with her mum, and Alice and Frank need to finish with Mrs. Longbottom first to be able to get Neville here. It’s hers and Harry’s first Christmas, and they want to make them special.

“Are Remus and Sirius here yet?” Lily herself, despite attempting to braid her hair, isn’t dressed that fancily either; also sporting the Christmas sweater and jeans look. The only people coming who might dress up a bit are James’ cousin Sam, and his wife. Their daughter is almost five—too old to play with Harry, or maybe Harry is too young to play—but Sam had said they’d bring her anyway.

“No,” James shakes his head. “Neither did Dorcas.”

Dorcas would be coming alone this year; Marlene was having a family Christmas with her cousins; Christopher was back from Turkey, and from what Marley told her over the phone, brought a date with him—some muggle girl with a flowery hijab Marlene had _loved_ and not all that fluent in English. Nihan something, Marlene had said. Thinking about how Mary should have been with them made Lily’s heart ache; Mary shouldn’t have died so soon.

“So?” Lily asks, raising her eyebrows at James from the mirror. “What do you want?”

“Can’t I just miss you?” James asks, wrapping his arms around her waist. It’s good Lily is finishing with the braid, otherwise she would have smacked him.

“That holler of _‘Liiiily’_ wasn’t you missing me,” Lily points out, wrapping the band around her hair and turning around in James’ hold.

“It definitely was,” James insisted, that shit-eating grin covering half his face. “I missed you very—” he kisses her nose, “—very—” kisses her cheek, “—much.” He leaves a trail of kisses along her jaw and Lily chuckles.

“Did you now?” she asks, smiling. “We’ve only been apart, what? Ten minutes?”

“Too much time,” James decides, and kisses her. Lily laughs, and they have to break the kiss, which only makes Lily laugh harder.

“Harry’s going to wonder where you went,” Lily tells him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, bringing James even closer.

“Harry’s sleeping,” James informs her before he kisses her again. This time, Lily lets it last a little longer, but she breaks it again. It’s worth it, if only to laugh at James’ childish whine.

“It’s almost eight—Sirius and Remus will be here soon,” she says, trying to hold back her grin without much success.

“Nothing they haven’t seen before,” James points out, kissing her softly. Lily tries, she really does, but teasing James is just too much fun.

“What if it’s Sam and Adhara?” she asks innocently when he groans, frowning as if she’s worried about it. “You don’t want to scare Mia for life, do you?”

James hums something incomprehensive and kisses her again, this time with more fervor, and despite the fact that Lily smiles into the kiss, she doesn’t pull back this once. This, this is everything she wanted when she told James _yes_. The cozy house, the Christmas sweaters, the fairy lights and decorations, _Harry_. The warmth of James’s lips on hers, the rough subtle that tickles her jaw, the snugness of snuggling in James’ arms under a blanket watching cooking shows until they fall asleep on the sofa.

This is home, this is family. In it, it’s easy to pretend the war outside of them doesn’t exist; but there’s always going to be someone’s absence to remind them, brutally, that the war never left. Sometimes, times like these, Lily wants to stay in the soft, safe bubble of James’ arms and never go back to reality—the cold reality that hits them until it draws blood.

There’s a musical sound, and regretfully, Lily has to pull back.

“That,” she tells James, a little out of breath, “was the doorbell.”

James pouts, but follows her out the room.

* * *

**\- 11th December**

**_THE DAILY EXPRESS_ **

_Except from Robert Bliss' article for the Social column "MAINSTREAM AND OVERRATED; THE BLACK FAMILY SEEKS TO BE THE CENTER OF THE PUBLIC LENS ONCE MORE"_

_… The Ancient and Noble House of Black, following the ostentatious promotion of its heir’s wrongful arrest, attempts to steal the public’s attention with a projection of his wedding in much the same way. Ever since the end of war, instead of focusing on things that actually matter, we focalize on the things that have no real substance. The Black family relishes in being ubiquitous, and our first mistake is allowing them to dominate the mass media._

_Their so-called alliance with the Ancient and Noble House of Moore, only serves to further ensure the privileges of the upper-class; the political influence and the economic power to the detriment of lower social classes. Their wealth and indisputably rich magical heritage do naught but instill a sense of superiority in them, they distance them from the problems of the society as a whole and create the basis for elitist terrorist outbreaks like the one we suffered from recently; the Death Eaters._

_The last thing we should be doing is encouraging their showcase of political stability and power; the respect they earn is not bidirectional, but based on fear, now more than ever. The attempts of their youngest members to ameliorate our situation, “eliminate the blood-based privileges and meaningless prejudices”, as Clara Black recently maintained, is a very simple and very effective method of manipulation, based on saying exactly what the public needs to hear. Supporting her vague claims and baseless promises now will build the ground to support her more radical intentions, that hide political expediencies._

_Her tirade against international war hero, Albus Dumbledore, one of the most trusted and prominent members of the wizarding society, will only serve to bifurcate the public and in that way achieve her personal and inter-family political ambitions. Firstly, with her push for the brutal conviction of Death Eater Severus Snape, a man who was trying to redeem himself of his past sins and walk the path of light once more, and now with her slanderous accusations against Albus Dumbledore for what started as a petty personal feud, Clara Black has shown us her true colours; ruthless and arrogant and…_

* * *

In another world, the morning after Christmas is nothing special, it’s just another day; Harry’s forgotten until he cries his voice out, and then he’s begrudgingly fed whilst being talked down the whole time. In this one, he wakes up in the morning with Remus’ smile over him, he gets to help Sirius flip the pancakes and gets showered with presents.

In another world, Harry isn’t happy, but it’s not this one.

Despite the pancakes, and the presents, the love, Harry misses his parents. He can tell something happened, because they’re not there, and his parents never left him alone this long—even though he’s with Padfoot and Moony and Clara. It’s not bad though. He loves spending time with them, and he’s sure his parents will come back.

“Oi!” Sirius protests with no real heat. “I cooked breakfast, you do the dishes!”

“Honestly, Sirius,” Clara sighs. “Harry fusses a lot less than you do. Isn’t that right, darling?” she asks Harry, bouncing him in her arms. “It is! It is! Tell Padfoot I’m right.” Harry giggles at the radiant smile in Clara’s face, obviously not understanding much of what she says—or not caring to pick a side.

“You’re not allowed to use my godson against me,” Sirius says, pointing a finger accusingly. “Harry’s going to pick my side, ey prongslet?”

Harry blinks up at Sirius, and ignoring both him and Clara, reaches for Remus.

“HA!” Remus exclaims with triumph. “I win, losers!”

“That’s absolutely unfair,” Sirius protests. “Slander! Harry, why have you betrayed me so?”

Harry laughs, more because of Sirius’ theatrics than anything else. Clara shifts him in her arms, using her free hand to put some of the empty plates together.

“I have a better idea,” she decides. “How about no one does the dishes, since there’s this amazing thing called magic?”

“You really like to take the fun of things, don’t you?” Sirius asks, and Clara throws him one of the towels from the table in the face.

“You know what, Harry, your uncles are being idiotic today,” Clara tells the baby in her arms, already walking towards the door. Harry tugs at the scarf around her neck, and gently she takes it from his hands. “How about you and I go read a story, huh? They can go and get everything ready for when Minerva comes over!” she yells the last part with a glance over her shoulder, sending Remus and Sirius pointed looks. “And they won’t snog in the kitchen instead!”

“MAKE ME!” Sirius calls after her retreating back, and Clara shakes her head, smiling.

“Your uncles think they’re very funny, don’t they?” she asks Harry, who nods his head in solemn agreement. “They’re mostly idiots.” Harry nods again, trying to play with Clara’s yellow scarf again. “But we love them, don’t we? We love them very much.” Harry’s attention has been divided again, so he doesn’t answer, but he kicks his little feet. “Down?” Clara asks. “Do you want to go down?”

“No!” Harry decides, and kicks his feet again.

“Okay,” Clara agrees and continues walking until she finds the open door that writes ‘HARRY’ on it, with big red letters. “We’re here anyway. See, Harry? This is your room.”

Harry is not impressed. Probably because he has seen his room a thousand times before. Originally, they debated whether or not they should make it identical to his room in Godric’s Hollow, but ultimately decided against it. The Black Manor was not Godric’s Hollow and it could never be. It would be better if Harry got a new room—it would help him realize he was somewhere else. In all truth, Clara doesn’t know how much of everything that had happened Harry can understand, or if he understands them, just differently than they do. Until Harry is a bit older, it’s impossible to know.

What had Yoda said? Truly wonderful the mind of a child indeed.

She sets him down, and this time Harry goes. He wanders over to the small round table in the corner—the plastic green one they shopped from the muggle stores—that has some crayons and papers, and a few misplaced toys on it. He doesn’t appear interested in any of it though, just wanders a bit around. Clara thinks Sirius did a really good job of painting the room; it’s a soft blue, just enough to have colour, and on the empty walls on either side he has drawn some Quidditch scenes, some animals, and in the ceiling, he painted the night sky with moving constellations and stars that glow in the dark.

The rest of the room isn’t as impressive as Sirius’ drawings are. The bed, for example, which Harry is currently trying to climb onto, is mostly for show in this age—Harry sleeps at the crib on the other side of the room. He likes the bed better though; probably because of the bright red and gold covers with the brooms. On the right wall, there’s a bookcase, but that’s most of it. The rest is Harry’s toys all over the place.

“Let me help you with that,” Clara says softly, walking to the bed. Harry still futilely tries—the bed is taller than him—and Clara picks him up and sets him down at the covers. Harry tugs at her hands to indicate she should sit down and points at the bookcase.

Ah, so he was listening. Clara laughs. “Which story, darling?” she asks, scouring the books. There are lots of muggle stories—the ones Hope gave them, but not only, Clara did some shopping of her own—and a few wizarding ones. Her eyes run the shelf twice, and both times they settle on one single book. “Yes, I think this one will do best.”

Clara takes the Tales of Beedle the Bard and heads back to bed, where Harry has made space for her to sit—so he can snuggle against her. She gets under the covers, gets comfortable, and then pats the space next to her; not that Harry needs prompting. He’s already crawling towards her, and with the face of a baby who knows better than you do, sits down, puts the covers over him, and leans against Clara.

“Comfy?” Clara asks, putting an arm around Harry to have him in between the book—it’s a good thing Remus went out to get the edition with the pictures, because neither hers, nor Sirius’ versions had any pictures in them. Harry gets very excited with the pictures, which Clara thinks is adorable. “Okay, let’s see. Which story do you want, love?”

Harry demands the book and once it’s in his hands, he turns the pictures until he finds Clara’s favourite story and stops.

“The fountain of fortune,” Clara reads. “An excellent choice. I have taught you well, my young padawan.”

Harry frowns, but it’s alright; he’ll learn the Star Wars movies soon enough. Remus always called them obligatory education. With a kiss on his unruly black hair, Clara begins reading.

“High on a hill in an enchanted garden, enclosed by tall walls and protected by strong magic, flowed the… fountain of fortune!” Clara booms dramatically, and Harry laughs delightedly; he always liked the voices. “Once a year, between the hours of sunrise and sunset on the longest day, a single unfortunate was given the chance to fight their way to the Fountain…”

She continues in the same way, but it’s not long before she notices that Harry is no longer paying attention. At first, she thinks he might be falling asleep again, but his eyes remain stubbornly open. “…it turned a foul face upon them and said— _Pay me the proof of your pain!_ ” Clara says in her most dramatic voice, and Harry keeps frowning.

This won’t do.

“Harry, darling, is there something wrong?” she asks gently, running a hand through his hair. Harry doesn’t say anything for a while, but Clara waits. Finally, Harry’s big green eyes turn to look at her, and they’re filled with tears. “Oh, mo stór, what is it?” Clara asks, quickly pulling Harry into a hug and kissing his forehead. “What’s wrong, mo grá?”

Harry wraps his tiny fingers around Clara’s index finger and says quietly; “Mama? Dada?”

Clara has the overwhelming urge to start crying too. She stifles it.

“Do you miss mommy and daddy?” Clara asks, vehemently trying to keep her voice from shaking. Harry nods, and she sighs. “Yeah, I know. I miss them too. And wherever they are, I know they miss you too, very _very_ much.” Harry is watching her like she holds the answers to all the answers in the universe, and she takes a deep breath and forces her voice to be as cheerful as she can make it.

“Your mommy and daddy aren’t here now,” she tells Harry; keeps her voice light but serious. “A bad man made them go somewhere else. But they miss you very much, and they’re here right now, only you can’t see them.” Harry frowns and for a moment Clara panics—she was never good at explaining that stuff, and it’s vital she does _not_ screw this up. “Your mommy and daddy may not be here like you and I are,” she starts slowly, “and you may not be able to hear them or see them or touch them, but they’re here. Because they love you _so much_ and they’re always going to be with you, Harry. _Always._ ”

She doesn’t know if Harry understands what she means—she’s not sure _she_ does—but he _has_ to. If nothing else from these years stay, this must; Lily and James loved him, they loved so much and they never would have left him if they had a choice, and Harry needs to understand this, if nothing else, ever.

“You know when you feel like someone is watching you, or that someone is next to you even though you know there’s no one there?” Clara admits that wasn’t the best way to explain it, but she doesn’t have anything else. “That’s because there is. I need you to remember this Harry, it’s very important—when you feel sad or alone, I need you to remember that you’re not. Your mommy and daddy are always, _always_ , going to be there with you, even if you can’t see them.”

Harry nods. Clara isn’t sure he understands, doesn’t know if he’ll remember this, the gravity in her voice, but Harry nods, and breathing is a little easier. She looks down at the bed’s base, where the concentration of magic is denser—Harry can’t see it yet, but she can—and points there.

“There, see?” she guides Harry’s glance there, uses the hand he can’t see to mold the shadows a bit. “Say hi to mommy and daddy. It’s okay that you can’t see them—they know that.”

Harry looks perplexed, but hesitantly, carefully, he waves his tiny hand to the place where Clara showed, and something in her hurts at the ease he trusts her with. She holds him closer tightly and prays to everything she knows that James and Lily are waving back.

“What, you thought just ’cause they’re gone they won’t be coming for Christmas?” Clara whispers in a voice that’s much lighter than how she’s feeling. “Don’t be silly. As if something like that would stop them.”

* * *

**\- 17th December**

**_THE QUIBBLER_ **

_Excerpt from Xenophilius Lovegood's article "THE BOY-WHO-LIVED AND THE CACOPHONIC SYMPHONY: THE POTTER LEGACY AND THE MOORE- BLACK WEDDING"_

_… When we speak of the Moore-Black wedding, we preach many aspects of it, but conveniently, everyone seems to forget the most apparent aspect of it, that Harry Potter was there to remind us. The Boy-Who-Lived, despite an outbreak of publicity shortly after the end of war that either painted him as a hero or expressed their condolences for the tragic loss of his parents or both, is still a child, and not the magic solution that solved the War._

_Many articles have mentioned empty chairs, when the wedding had none. The first row of chairs, reserved for family members, was indeed full; even though the camaraderie was not corporeal. The bride’s proud parents made an appearance, as did her beloved brother, keeping excellent company to those who engaged in conversation. Lily and James Potter themselves, of course, could not be absent from their best friend’s wedding—spending most of their time with their son. The souls of the couple, in this traditional wedding, were tied together under the guidance of Cassiopeia Black, brought out for the special occasion; it’s rare to see a witch who follows the ancient ways in public events._

_Protective barriers against the forces of evil were, of course, in place, even though some nargles managed to pass the barrier of yellow orchids. For the most part, despite, the ceremony was performed in agreement with the spirit world; we can recognize the acquiescence of the ancient ancestors in the blue pyres that lit up around the podium shortly after the beginning of the ceremony. In this trying time of untenable anxiety, the search for equanimity seems impossible, and yet it is a testament of life that it was found in this event._

_The legacy of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter continues as…_

* * *

In another world, Sirius Black spends twelve years of his life haunted by the same nightmares over and over again, until they come true. In this one a good portion of Sirius’s nightmares will never come to pass.

He wakes up and the dark still reigns, heart beating fast and covered in a thin sheen of cold sweat. Remus and Clara are still sleeping; he untangles Clara’s arms from him carefully, and frowning at the loss of heat, unconsciously she gravitates closer to Remus, who already has an arm thrown across her waist.

He’s careful when he tiptoes his way out of the room—Remus’ werewolf hearing is more acute when he’s unconscious. Finding his way to the kitchen through the maze of corridors should have been hard—his grandmother certainly intended for it to be—but by now, Sirius is an expert in finding his way in the dark. Years of practice at Grimmauld Place—not to mention these tips uncle Alphard gave him—had made his navigation skills worthy of even Moody’s praise.

He doesn’t remember what the nightmare was about, but it doesn’t matter; he gets nightmares often enough that it’s best he doesn’t remember. Memories from his past lives are never pretty, and from what he _does_ remember… best not to. His mother always remembered them more clearly; he learned to identify the days by whether she locked herself in her room or not. If there is one thing his mother taught him that’s actually both soothing and useful is that tea helps.

“Master!” Clindy, one of the house elves, exclaims when she sees him in the kitchen. “Is master alright?”

“Yes, Clindy, I’m fine,” Sirius says tiredly, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.The mew from somewhere behind him manages to sound disbelieving, and Sirius gives Salem an unimpressed stare. The small black cat settles on the table, keeping its glowing yellow eyes on him.

“Does master desire something Clindy can provide?” Clindy asks, looking at him with her big brown eyes. Ever since his demanding grandparents left, he thinks the house elves were a bit overwhelmed by how many things they didn’t have to do.

“No, Clindy, it’s alright,” Sirius says, smiling a bit to reassure her. “You should go to sleep.”

“Is master ordering me to go to sleep?” Clindy asks again—the lack of orders is something else the elves are not used to, but Sirius is determined to make sure they will get used to it.

“Do you _want_ to go to sleep Clindy?” Sirius asks, reaching for a cup and something to warm the water with. Clindy frowns, considering.

“Clindy’s arms ache,” she says finally. “And her eyes keep drooping.”

“Then Clindy should go to sleep, because she’s tired,” Sirius reasons. He elects to interpret Salem's mew as an agreement. He can see her arms twitching to help him, but he doesn’t let her. “It’s just tea, Clindy. I will manage.”

“If master is certain,” Clindy says; calling him master is one of the habits he was not able to break.

“Master is very certain,” Sirius says. “See?” he asks, lifting the bag with the leaves to show her. “Master is very good in the kitchen.”

“That is correct,” Clindy says with what might be the hint of a smile. “Clindy will go to sleep now,” she announces, smoothing down her small robe—at least it’s not torn, Sirius thinks. If for nothing else than his family’s own vanity.

“Goodnight, Clindy.”

“Goodnight master Sirius.”

* * *

**\- 13th December**

**_HOCUS-POCUS_ **

_Excerpt from Veronica Lodge's article for the Bewitched column "10 REASONS THE MOORE-BLACK WEDDING WAS ANYTHING A WITCH BRIDE COULD ASK FOR"_

_… **Clara Moore-Black** has managed to do what all of us dream of when we’re children, looking at the stars and drawing in our notepads; have the perfect wedding. The Moore-Black wedding was the epitome of perfection—quintessential in every way; the dress, the flowers, the setting, the table. Having the idyllic wedding—with just the right dress, just the right hair, just the right flowers and venue, and of course the right husband—is not something that can be said lightly, but it applies in this instance._

_First things first, we should start by saying that **Clara** looked bewitching in her wedding dress; the traditional wedding robes. The dress was made from the most exquisite Asian silks and coloured a deep, mesmerizing sapphire—with earrings and a necklace to match!—and ankle-long, with a lace plating and décolleté, and a bareback dipping down her hips. The open back was weaved with a thread-thin, absolutely stunning silver snake. Her hair was styled up in a French milkmaid braid—much like a crown!—giving her an aristocratic grace and elegance, and decorated with just the right amount of flowers; Himalayan blue poppies to be exact, making her the most beautiful bride! **Sirius Black** is certainly one lucky gentleman!_

_The venue, a part of the Blacks’ Summer Point mansion in Blakeley, was heavenly; vast and green, and made even more beautiful by the decorations with all sorts of gorgeous flowers. The bride herself was holding a bouquet of white gardenias, the flowers that symbolise love and refinement, purity. Gardenias signify a secret love, and are usually associated with clarity and intuition, hope of renewal and trust; which gives the bouquet a beautiful meaning between the couple. The bouquet also had touches of blue-lilac clematis in it, the symbol of ingenuity and mental beauty; both very representative traits of the bride!_

_For the rest of the venue’s decoration…_

* * *

In another world, finishing university is the last thing on Remus’ mind. He does, but it doesn’t help him much. In this one, university becomes a rather important priority, and exams an important chore. In another world, he passes them by sheer force of habit, tons of coffee and an acute lack of sleep. In this one, Clara crams for them with him, and at least that makes them a tad more tolerable.

“Okay, let’s go again,” Remus says. He and Clara are sitting on the floor in between the tree and the burning fireplace, books open all around. Sirius and Harry went on a walk—probably in the garden since it’s large enough. Clara's currently cross-legged in front of the fire, holding Salem in her arms, and petting his head. The little devil is purring in contentment. “International Statute of Secrecy, go.”

“As a wizarding law, the International Statute of Secrecy was first instituted in 1689 but wasn’t put in effect until 1692. It was put in place in order to hide the existence of witches and wizards from the Muggles who persecuted them, as a direct result of the Salem Witch Trials in Massachusetts of 1692/3,” Clara says in one breath. “In 1750, a clause—clause 73—was added to ensure the concealment of a magical creatures within the borders of a country by its Ministry. Failing to rise up to this, the Ministry faced sanction from the International Confederation of Wizards.”

“Excellent!” Remus grinned. “Aced it.”

“Thank god,” Clara breathed. “It’s been driving me crazy. Exams suck.”

“So very true,” Remus agrees, looking down at his own pile of papers. “Do you want to take a break?”

“ _Please_ ,” Clara nods. “I feel like I might go crazy.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Remus chuckles, leaning back on the back of the sofa. Clara closes and piles her books before crawling over to him and settling practically on him. Remus laughs, but puts an arm over her shoulders as she moves to find a comfortable place on his chest to set her head. “Comfortable?” he asks, kissing her temple.

“Very,” Clara replies with a content sigh. “We should just stay here. All day.”

“I’m not about to disagree with that,” Remus says. “Are Sirius and Harry back yet?”

“Well, I didn’t hear anything—”

“WE ARE NOW!” Sirius yells, coming into view seemingly out of nowhere. Clara starts so bad she knocks her head on Remus’ chin; a hit strong enough to rearrange the bones in his head.

“Arsehole,” Clara mutters, but she can’t throw anything at him because he’s holding Harry. Both of them are laughing, and despite the pain and his elevated heart rate, Remus finds himself smiling.

“Were you waiting behind the wall for me to ask this whole time?” he asks, and Sirius grins widely.

“A gentleman never tells,” he says solemnly. “By the way, Clara, you have a letter,” he continues, sending a letter flying to Clara’s direction—probably guessing he won’t be received with open arms right now—and it lands in her lap.

“Oh!” she exclaims excitedly, he and Sirius all but forgotten as she sits up. “It’s Bianca!”

“From Italy?” Remus asks, trying to remember where Clara’s sister-in-law was this week.

“Milano, yes,” Clara says distractedly. “She said she’d write as soon as she lands.”

“Aha,” Remus hums, looking up at Sirius to see the same expression of fond exasperation on his face. There was no tearing her attention away now.

* * *

**\- 14th December**

**_THE SUNDAY POST_ **

_Except from Christine Cooper's article for the Happenings column "AVANT GARDE OF THE PUREBLOOD SOCIETY; THE HIGHLIGHTS OF THE BLACK WEDDING"_

_… It will be a neglect not to mention the Black wedding, that since its execution has evolved into the happening of the year. Fastidious by all aspects, the organization was flawless; especially for such a small time of preparation (barely two months!). The invitations left early enough to warn but not too early, the wedding venue was decorated to the detail, the dresses and preparations astonishingly precise and glamorous and just enough media coverage to make the event known, but not overly promoted._

_With over three hundred guests in total, the Black wedding certainly exceeds most happenings in the last few years, and successfully becomes the first big joyful event since the end of the Wizarding War—the period of the last decade characterized by fear and violent terrorist attacks with many victims. As newspapers continue to publish lists of people—wizard and muggles alike—that went missing and the lists of those confirmed dead at the hands of Death Eaters, the Black wedding comes to give us a glimpse of what the future can be like if we let it. And it gets even more meaningful if we consider that both the bride and the groom have since been decorated as war heroes for their service in the Order of Phoenix, a vigilante organization that refused to bow down to You-Know-Who’s reign of terror._

_Present at the wedding were, of course, the whole Black family as well as Marcus Moore—who walked the lucky down the aisle—and Marcella Lovegood, the bride’s family, and their friends. The Sunday Post’s lens caught a rather touching moment of Alphard Black, godfather of the groom, tear up during the ceremony. From France, the Rowle family came to attend, and the Selwyns were all there; even their newest member, Polaris. Considering Clara Black’s political views, the neglect to invite Albus Dumbledore should not surprise us—especially after his participation in Sirius Black’s surreptitious arrest._

_The cake and foods, all services of Kettleburn’s Express…_

* * *

In another world, Clara Moore doesn't exist. In a different one she's dead, in a third she never met the Marauders. In another world, Regulus drowns, Dorcas dies, Marlene burns; Sirius stays in Azkaban, Remus never builds another family and Emma doesn't let the grief ease up. In this one, it takes effort to let the grief go.

In another world, everybody dies—some long before their heart stops—and for those Time leaves behind the grief is sempiternal, like a constant companion with a dark cloak and sharp, feral teeth. The beast that lurks underneath the moonlit sheets and the faded photographs on the vanity, in the cold, empty corridors and the rain that falls from their eyes; a litany of tears and pain.

In this world, the grief snarls and growls and pounds at its victims on the chilly nights when the moon is highest and time slows until it doesn't feel real; or maybe only then it _does_ feels real, and the morning rays blunt the edges and blur the lines. In this world, the grief falls like a dark, velvet cloth; but the stars are woven onto it and the morning sun rays always come to tear through the cobwebs. 

In another world, perhaps grief wins, or maybe it loses, but in this one the ones left behind are the ones who win; perhaps because they try harder, or because they stay together, or simply because somewhere else they don't.

New Year’s is always a bigger event than Christmas, and even more this year. The celebration is very simple and very House of Black; Walburga invites them all—not Remus, but he goes anyway—in her house. Somehow Clara manages to convince her to invite all her cousins as well, so the dinner table consists of the Blacks, the Malfoys, the Selwyns, the Rowles, the Moores, Remus and Arcelia Lestrange. It’s fancy and sharp and Remus takes Sirius and Harry to his parents before the new year changes—Sirius and Clara following soon after.

The year's change is quiet and warm and smells of home; with Hope and Lyall Lupin fussing over Harry as much as they possibly can.

Coming back to the Black manor should feel cold and empty, but the log is still burning in the fireplace and the house elves have taken the initiative to leave them home-baked cookies, and that’s home too.

The photographs make a pile, and no one is going to bother sorting them out until the morning—or well, some time later when it’s not three in the morning and Harry isn’t drooling on everyone’s robes.

“Nice, isn't it?” Remus asks, and Sirius looks up, startled. 

“Yeah,” he says and puts the photograph down on the table. “It is. You're really good at this.”

Remus shrugs. “Julian taught me,” he says and his lips twist with sorrow at the mention of Emmeline's brother.

“Are you two knuckleheads coming to bed any time this century?” Clara pokes her head through the wall. “I'm not getting any younger here.”

“Lead the way, your Majesty,” Sirius grins at her faintly and Clara comes to stand next to them, looking down at the photographs Sirius had been looking before.

“I know,” she says quietly. “But they’re here anyway, you know. And they’d want you to be happy.”

“I know,” Sirius nods, leaning into her touch and closing his eyes when she cups his cheek. She reaches for Remus’ hand at the same time, and he leans down to plant a kiss on her cheek. Clara’s thin lips pull; a small smile, but it’s warm even so.

“My moon and stars,” she says quietly, gazing at them. “Let’s just go to sleep, ey?”

In another world, Lily and James Potter die, and for a handful of people, the world stops. Time stops, but simultaneously it continues cruelly forward, like nothing happened—when everything did. In this one, time doesn’t stop. Not even for a moment, the world doesn’t stop spinning. It continues, like the stream of some bankless, endless, sempiternal river, and the people flow with it, learning to pick up the pieces, fill them; learn to be better than before because time doesn’t stop, time doesn’t slow down, it pushes forward, and the world isn’t over yet.

Not even close.

**Author's Note:**

> irish translations (i had help and am in no way an expert):  
> Gread leat = get lost  
> ag na biotáilli = by the spirits  
> mo stór = my darling  
> mo grá- my love


End file.
